The Enemy of My Enemy
by DamienCourtesWolfe
Summary: An apology, a confession, too many questions, not enough answers. Will it work? Rated M for a reason. This is the abridged version. If you want to read the full version, visit my profile and follow the link. Disclaimer: I do not claim to own anything made my Ubisoft. Thank you and have a nice day!


The Enemy Of My Enemy

D. Courtes

Part I

Desmond, not yet able to enter the much needed rapid eye movement sleep he so desperately needed, since the sun went down twelve hours ago, peered from his bed over at the Animus 2.0 for the third time since he lay down, and then to the clock on the eastern wall. The hands of the clock on the wall read six something in the morning. He was fatigued, tossed and turned against the memory foam mattress and pillow, tangled himself in his the cashmere sheets, poured sweat against the temperate atmosphere, shivered under the blankets. His mind raced in loops, his heart pounded in his chest and he was starting to hallucinate.

_A band of knights closed in around him, his back to a wall, and next to his side the dark haired high ranking assassin Malik. It was nearly night, a few more moments, just a few more moments to stall, and they would disappear into the night never to be seen against the black backdrop and the bone white of the moon. Somewhere, a man cried out in gurgling pain; screaming women and children grabbed the attention of the guards. Finally the break they needed. He turned and as quickly as they had been caught, Malik and Altair were gone to join the rest of their group. Up the side of the white wall, as quick as a jackrabbit, with Malik close behind him._

In the dark, amongst the shadows of Hecate's sickle, against the muffled noises of the outside world, it shown bright with red light and hummed with the whirl of machinery at work. It called to him, drew him with its sound like the call of a siren. Lulling him into trusting it, seducing him into laying with it, coddling him within it's arms and singing him into another state of consciousness. Visions of the laying upon the cushions of the Animus clouded his eyes.

Desmond shook his head almost violently to clear the Animus from his mind and threw the covers form his body. It'd been a week since he'd gotten much need sleep. Maybe, instead of getting up and laying in the Animus everyday from sun up to sun down, he needed to exercise his body after waking up and before going to bed. Maybe a little exercise right now wouldn't hurt to get himself to sleep, and it couldn't hurt to practice his climbing and jumping in the warehouse area down the stairs. He would never admit he was addicted.

The only problem he would have is sneaking past Lucy's room, a well trained assassin with fine tuned senses and a woman's extrasensory perception, the deadliest mix known to man. Worse, she was in the room just past his own along with Rebbecca. Shaun is around the corner but it's not like the man really cares what Desmond does outside of the Animus.

Desmond pulled up some sweat pants over the boxer briefs he slept in, neglecting a shirt since he would only remove it after it became damp and cold from sweating. He only had an hour until Lucy was awake, which meant he only had an hour to work himself into sleeping well the next night, before he was to continue his assassin training in Ezio Auditore de Firenza's DNA sequences in the Animus, hoping for the right bleeding effect.

Desmond didn't worry about socks, or shoes for his feet. Socks would cause him to sleep and shoes would be too loud on the wooden floor and give himself away. Instead, he went barefoot and padded his way down the hallway and the warehouse stairs. Lucy's door was open a crack and thanks to the training in the Animus, Desmond could here her and Rebbecca's steady breathing as he pasted the door. If he was caught, Lucy would wonder if he slept. If she looked at him right now it would be apparent that his sleep was broken and rough, and Lucy would make him lay down instead training in the Animus to become a useful modern day assassin, like he should be doing.

As Desmond padded past the door, he heard either Lucy or Rebbecca turn over in their sleep, and the soft sound of fabric against skin as one of them pushed the covers away from their body. He was tempted to look, and an image of Lucy's bare body flashed in front of his eyes. His hormones had been betraying him lately. Waking up with erection's and having to hide them from the girls and Shaun was starting to get harder and harder to accomplish. Desmond really needed to work this out of himself before things became out of hand. He continued his trek, as quietly as possible and probably a little overly dramatic, but thankfully he did not wake up his sleeping mistresses.

Cleanly swept floors and soft concrete just made this little expedition even easier. The crates were made of smooth metal and sanded oak. As he gave himself a running start to climb the scaffolding around the side walls, Desmond felt excited, as if his DNA were piecing together with each step, and gradually each leap from bar to bar, free climbing up one wall down the other, running across the narrow ledges and railings with a grace he'd been born with, he felt the pain of his withdrawal from the Animus lessening being replaced with an intensely deep satisfaction. This is what he was born to do, this is who he is. He was an assassin. _I am an assassin. I am..._

Desmond reached the highest point in the warehouse, let his eagle vision he'd acquired from the bleeding effect while in the Altair's DNA memories at Abstergo Industries, take over his sight with the blink of his eyes. In a crouch, he crept out onto the narrow ledge. His breathing was deep and labored but he'd never felt better, never felt more alive. Below seemed so far away, and Desmond knew Altair and Ezio have been much higher, but the huge crates looked like only large boxes and the feeling of fearlessness almost scared him. Around him the world had blackened and was blurry around the edges, illuminating safe spots and dangers in different colors. Blue for safety, white for hiding spots, red for danger.

Desmond didn't feel the world shift around him, didn't even know that the bleeding effect was taking place and a hallucination was clouding his vision through the ecstasy of his captive freedom, and he couldn't tell the difference as he shifted from Desmond the defunct member of the Order of Assassins turned bartender in New York, into Altair Ibn-La'Ahad, assassin for the Levantine Brotherhood of Assassins.

Around Desmond hustling bustling ancient city materialized from the devoid and well lit warehouse, and from the metal crates and scaffolding materialized stone buildings, wooden scaffolding and the dark of night. The air was once cool on his sweat soaked torso, was quiet and smelt of dust and mold.

Now the air around him was dry and hot and laced with the smell of spicy arak, toubuleh, tea, and bodily odors and fluids. The sound of chanting and harmonic playing of the nay and oud and a few more instruments, caressed his ears; something Altair took a great pleasure in hearing. One of his few pleasures. Fa'iqah, one of the many women of Al Maulim's harem used to play the nay, and he couldn't remember who but someone when he was young used to play the oud and Fa'iqah would sing in between her playing the nay. Altair used to sing too. Fa'iqah said he had a wonderful voice, "Just like your mother's."

Altair blended past the band of players, poor citizens looking for extra money to help fill the empty stomachs of their children by playing music for the noble men and noble women. There was also performance arts, and snake charmers. Here and there a coin was tossed into a basket to be divvied up between the families to help pay for grains, vegetables and fruits, breakfast tea, and if they were lucky enough to have a generous audience, meats. Altair pushed past a beggar woman, wishing he too had enough money for food to eat. Perhaps there was food at the Assassins Bureau in the city of Jerusalem, hopefully.

Sometimes the lack of money made it hard to eat for assassins visiting cities other than Masyaf, as stealing from the innocent was forbidden and drawing attention to one's self was forbidden as well under the creed, the code of honor upheld by Order of Assassins. It's what you swear to once you are initiated unto the order: Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent; Hide in plain sight; Never compromise the brotherhood.

"_Laa shay'a waqi'un moutlaq bale kouloun moumkine."_ Nothing is true; everything is permitted. That is the wisdom of the creed. Money comes from the Assassin Bureau buying shops, doctors, and brothels, collecting their income. If the people of the cities did not make money to spend money, then in turn the Order of Assassins went without. Food came from working; sewing, planting, watering and harvesting, and raising, caring for and slaughtering animals; supplies were made by blacksmiths and weavers, instead of buying things like noblemen do. You can buy anything you can afford but if you don't work for it, you'll never have the satisfaction of earning it. Never the satisfaction of a job well done.

Altair followed the group of scholars into the heart of the city, blending out into the crowd, avoiding the Templar Knight in the corner of the dark alley quite graciously, and finally to the building with the ladder going up the side and the tapestry with an adumbration of the symbol of the creed. After the many years they'd been fighting, one would think that Templar's would have figured it by now. Maybe they already have.

Altair mentally reminded himself that when he returned to Masyaf, he would order intelligence on the Templar's knowledge of the Order of Assassin's as Al Maulim's legacy lacked that specific information. With that kind of information, he could keep members of the Order safer when they went on their missions.

In the dark he blended in with the cloud speckled night. The archers on the roof hardly noticed anything more than a mere shadow as Altair lowered himself into the Bureau. He climbed down the wall, succeeding in not stepping in the entrance fountain of the trickle of clean fresh water, and landed softly on the pads of his soft leather boots. Outside of the leaders chamber, the main chamber was decorated with lively plants. Brightly colored hand woven rugs for sleeping on, and tasseled tapestry pillows to lay your head upon while sleeping, peppered the floor as a place to rest and meditate before and after an assassination. Residue of the stink of human sweat clung upon a few of the pillows. Sometimes an assassins conscious betrayed them and they perspired not from the heat of the air, but from the bottled fear expressed in sleep.

Through the door Altair heard the scratch of quill and ink upon papyrus, a gift from the Egyptian Order of Assassin's across the sea when Altair made peace with them. Malik was busy tonight, making up a contract for assassination. The soft breathing of another person other than Malik lit Altair's senses a flame. _Friend or foe?_ Despite knowing that Malik would never compromise the brotherhood, Altair switched to his eagle vision to find out before he entered the door, out of habit. He was relieved to find a friend; the daughter of a brothel worker turned assassin, aptly named Nahid. She was the first, and so far only female inducted into the brotherhood, under Altair's mentoring. It was inconvenient not to have women assassin's, as they could get inside places with only their looks, charm and grace. They were fast too, faster than most of the men, so it was likely that they would not get caught.

A feather was passed from hand to hand as Altair waited outside the door. He did not need to eavesdrop as he was the one who ordered her only few day's ago. Underneath the hood, she winked at Altair, unknown of who he was, only that he was a high ranking assassin and not Mentor from the clothes and armor he wore, and sashayed away. Nahid was young, only sixteen, and flirting and showing off was the first thing on her mind when she was around men. It was only be expected, if not for her age then for how she was raised.

After the low ranking assassin left, quite ungracefully as she stepped in the fountain dirtying the clean water, Altair entered through the door, where he drank in the sight of his friend. The wonderful smell of baking naan bread, pickled vegetables and fish was coming from the kitchen below, which distracted him for but a moment as his stomach bellowed at him, reminding him that he'd not eaten since he left Masyaf.

The tables at the far end of the room where empty, save a unused game board of shatranj and it's pieces, and unless there was a big meeting taking place later which Altair highly doubted since he was the one who called such meetings, the place seemed business as usual. Malik's robes twirled around him as he turned to the sounds of Altair walking in. Malik's eyes widened in the dark, and he took up a defensive aura, the color of which took on a violet color. "Greetings friend. What brings you here on this fine and cloudy night?" he spoke into the darkness, a slight hint of defense in his voice that could be mistaken for malice. Malik was not expecting company after Nahid.

Altair bowed his head behind the hood. "Greetings Malik."

The confusion was clear upon Malik's face. "Altair, should you not be in Masyaf training apprentices as Mentor?"

Altair leaned against a shelf, lightly so as not to disturb the neatly placed books. "I prefer to walk amongst the people, see the cities for myself. I like to observe the order of my Bureaus and hear the thoughts of the Rafiq that keep them." Altair paused for a moment, then added, "I like to know that my friends are safe and well. Besides what am I but an assassin? All I do is wait around and tell people what to do, how to do it, and where to go. I need to be free. I feel myself fading away as the sun fades into the horizon at the end of the day."

"Yes well I shouldn't be surprised, you have always done as you wish," Malik sounded distracted as he went back to scratching something down in a book. The quill made a long scratch, seeming to flow on the page, almost as if Malik was sketching something in that book of his.

"Unfortunately, you're the only one who would truly know." There was a mournful bitterness that crossed into Altair mumbling voice as he peered at the stump of what used to be fully functional left arm. If not for him, Malik wouldn't have to be a Rafiq. Altair remained silent as Malik pulled the books down, an aura of bitterness pour off of Malik, clouding up the atmosphere.

Clouds that covered the sky now moved in a way that allowed the full moon to show brightly through the lace covering to of the Bureau. It created light and shadow and Altair no longer needed to use his eagle vision to see. Altair took this chance to come closer to Malik, just to the counter before the light illuminated him too much. If this caught Malik by surprise, Malik did not show it, though it was unlikely that anything Altair did anymore would surprise Malik.

(_What's going on, what is this feeling? Am I hallucinating again?_)

"Here are the books. If this is all then..." Malik started but Altair wouldn't let him finish.

Altair looked into his friends eyes, the pain on Malik's face was evident. "No that is not all. I know whatever words I speak cannot account for what I have done to you. I know that I can never atone for your injustices at my fault, nor for the life of your brother, but I need you to know this. I am sorry, Malik." Altair continued after a breath, "I am joyous to know that your life is preserved and that I am able to keep you as a friend."

"Altair, you have already apologized. Enough, let us speak no more of the past," Malik silenced Altair with the slam of a book on the wooden counter top. Somewhere in the city, the ding of bells echoed, meaning the Nahid had accomplished her job but in turn, had been revealed. Alerted by the sound, Malik pulled himself over the counter to close the entrance to the Assassin's Bureau so as the novice did not enter while she was still notorious. It was a harsh thing to do, leaving her on her own to either die or live, but one did not compromise the brotherhood. She would have to hide elsewhere.

While Malik was in the area, he took water from the fountain that Nahid had stepped to give the plants some much needed hydration. "Malik, please," Altair begged from the door way. It was strange to be the one begging. It was strange, the feelings he was having for his friend. "I would prefer not to hear the bitterness of your voice every time it is that we must talk. It cuts me like a knife."

Malik grasped lightly the leaf of the cane apple tree, checking for thickness and hydration. "At least it only cuts your pride, Altair. I'm missing a whole damned arm." After the burst of bitterness, Malik continued watering the plants again. Altair's heart sank in his chest, and the pain made him wish he could rip it out. Arrows piercing his chest would not have hurt him more that the blades in Malik's voice, but Altair couldn't blame him; because of Altair, he'd lost a limb, and worse, an only brother which made Malik alone in the world. Altair knew he was asking for too much by hoping for Malik's forgiveness, even more by hoping for things that cannot be. Should not be. He did not wish Malik to be alone in this world.

Altair bowed his head under the pressure of Malik's aura. Altair didn't move, instead he said, "I understand Malik."

Altair picked up the books and scrolls, defeated, and began going over the finances and assassination contracts at the tables on the other side of the room. He waited for the atmosphere to calm. Within the minute, from out of the kitchen down the stairs arrived the servant with a plate of grapes and figs and honey, cheeses and pickled vegetables, olive oil and na'an bread, and a cup of milk and a cup of tea.

Not expecting anyone else besides Malik, the girl, renamed from Aram to Suraa, started in surprise and quickly turned away, saying nothing for the girl was mute. Altair caught a glimpse of her face from behind the veil as she whirled around, something rarely seen by anyone. Suraa's face was quite beautiful and she had a lovely figure which as the years past would become something that would make most men turn their heads and most women covet her, but the scars marring her skin were too hard to look past when they were alchemy symbols thought to be symbols of the Christian devil known as Satan. She carried the legacy of her father's insanity and for that was the reason was she chosen to work with the assassins. This way she could make an honest living and not be regarded as a devil in disguise.

The aroma of the food had the corner of Altair's mouth watering. Malik returned to the counter a short time after Suraa had left, and Altair was surprised to see Malik coming over to him with the platter in hand. He set the food on Altair's table. Altair looked up at his friend and Malik, with the permanent scowl, sat down.

A long moment seemed to pass before anyone spoke.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled at you. You have redeemed yourself to the brotherhood, and myself many times since that day. My malice cannot be for you any longer." Malik was the only one who would even dare to raise his voice at him anymore now that Altair was Mentor. "Malik," Altair started but Malik stuffed a piece of bread into Altair's mouth to silence him. It was delicious.

"Just shut up and eat. Even as Mentor you still starve yourself because you put yourself last and everyone else first," Malik pushed the platter over to Altair. "How are you going to assassinate someone when you cannot even concentrate to read a single sentence?"

How Malik had know that he had read the same sentence over ten times, Altair did not understand. Though there were many things he did not understand about Malik. Altair smiled behind his hood as he felt the easing of bitterness between them, turning into a forgiveness. The silence had finally become comfortable, lifting the weight from Altair's shoulders and allowing him to sit up straight. He knew that Malik would never forget what happened but as they say, forgiveness is divine.

"Thank you Malik," he confided and reached for a small dark grape which he popped into his mouth right away. He squeezed it between his teeth and over his tongue until it burst. He savored the flavor; juicy and sweet but not too sweet. Tartness from the skin made his lips pucker a small bit and made the fruit extremely satisfying to the palette.

In pair with the cheese, the na'an bread, dried figs, and spiced olive oil was a delicacy he'd not tasted in three days travel. Fresh milk mingled well when they mixed it with the tea and the honey. Before long and between the two of them, the food was quickly gone. Not completely full but satisfied enough, Altair went back to the books and found it easier to concentrate. Some time after the servant came to collect the plate, Malik joined him at his side of the table, sitting close enough to help him complete his work.

Altair's breath hitched in his throat as Malik's side pressed against his own causing Altair to have to control a ragged breath, to feel his cheeks overheat, and Altair hoped that Malik had noticed it but prayed that he hadn't. There was more to his visit than just balancing the books, but the lump in his throat that Altair had accumulated since his arrival in Jerusalem, and Malik's bitter outburst, had choked him into silence. Would he ever be able to tell Malik the truth?

(_What's going on? What're these feelings?_)

Malik's voice arose into the air again, drifting into his ears. "You're distracted again my friend. I know it wasn't enough to eat or drink, but it's all we have at the moment until we get a delivery in the afternoon from Masyaf, so perhaps you could use some air?"

Altair looked at the position of the moon in the sky. It was well past midnight, only an hour or two before the sun would rise and he had to be finished before then so that he would make good timing to Acre, all in hopes of returning to Masyaf before anyone suspected that he wasn't coming back. He explained this Malik, but Malik did not take no for an answer. Perhaps he missed being able to run with his friend?

"I would only be for a few minutes," Malik promised and offered his right hand. Altair, feeling too closed in as it was, weighed his thoughts and took Malik's hand, which was rough from a life of work. There were only a few pages left to decode anyway; they would only take minutes if he could just concentrate on them.

"Fresh air always does the mind good," Altair mumbled as he rose from the table, and suddenly the outside world was around him once again. The wind whipping in his face as he ran beside Malik on the rooftop. He wasn't sure what would happen to the Bureau now that Malik had stepped out but Malik had said it would only be a few moments so what would be the harm?

They climbed down into the alley way. It was dark, dank and smelled of urine but as they walked, they talked, catching up on lost time, reclaiming the friendship they had lost, and soon they ended up across the city, stumbling upon a festival of music, alcohol and feasting, looking as if was someone's birthday dragged on into the beginning of the next day.

They were served a fiery sweet drink as they walked past, by a beautiful young woman with busty top, wide hips, and a lusty smile and the smell of booze upon he breath, which they drank all the way back to the Assassin's Bureau. By the time they had arrived, they were stumbling more than walking, and Altair and Malik had more trouble getting in than they had leaving. Altair cursed when he stepped in the fountain. He landed on his feet as he jumped down and smiled, but Altair tripped over the vine of a plant before sitting down on the carpets nestling in with the pillows. His head was floating and he cursed the drink the girl had given him. How could he have not known it was booze?

Altair could hear Malik talking to him from the top of the fountain, but he didn't know what he was talking about so he lifted his head to see if he could possibly read his lips, just in time to see Malik slipping. Altair's assassin reflexes had him up without a consciousness thought to the state of mind and body, to catch his falling friend. Malik fell hard upon Altair, who caught him clumsily in his arms and they fell back together on the variety of pillows and carpets. Malik, who gave a sigh in relief when he landed safely, grumped at his hood which had fallen over his face as he fell. Altair reached up and removed it from his head. Malik did not seem noticed that his arm was gripping Altair quite close and firmly, but Altair noticed.

Malik lurched his shoulder a bit from the heaviness of Altair hand, but Altair stayed his hand only lifting it slightly to relieve the pressure. Neither of them spoke. Malik's scowl turned to confusion, but Altair, not being able to help himself, look deeply into his friends eyes, dark brown pools looking almost like that tasty treat known as chocolate imported from Alexandria, and it was quite suddenly that the light of moon illuminated them with a silvery light that made them glow, and Altair found his lips upon Malik's.

Malik resisted at first trying to push away, separate himself from Altair, as he realized what was going on but as Altair licked the outside of his lips, Altair felt Malik groan low in his throat and melt into him, body pressing again body, intertwined in a deep, heady, boozy kiss. Altair felt a longing in his heart no longer and his world clicked into place once more. He stroked the side of Malik's face, and Malik's hand came to remove his hood. Altair did not stop him, not even as Malik, boldly licked the scar on Altair's lips.

(_Whoa... What's happening? Is this before Maria?_)

The sound of footsteps on the roof the bureau caught them off guard. Altair immediately turned, nearly shoving Malik off from him, who recovered quickly and drew his knife. Altair drew five daggers, then paused, eyes wide and seeing clearly. He walked up to entrance ready to strike.

Desmond saw Lucy staring down from the bureau entrance at him, and the world melted back into the warehouse once again, except instead of on the ledge were he was, Desmond was laying down on what seemed to be his bed. "Desmond, follow this light," Lucy said loudly as she waved it back and forth slowly. Desmond blinked trying to figure out where the world went, as he followed the light she held in her hand.

Lucy held up her hand, "How many fingers?"

Desmond tried to count, knew there was only two fingers in reality as only two looked opaque, but said four instead seeing as he really was seeing double for the moment. "Now two," he said a second after. "What happened? Where am I? I was in Altair's memory, wasn't I?"

"Oh is that what you were doing up there, then," the British accent made Desmond irritated, and Shaun hovered over him. "His vital signs are normal, Lucy."

Rebbecca's voice chimed, "Brain wave activity normal. Whatever was going on it more than just a hallucination, his brain believed he was really there."

Shaun continued, "Yes, it's quite fascinating."

"But why?" Lucy questioned.

"Hold on!" Desmond managed to raise his voice only a little to question, "What do you mean believed? Lucy, what's going on? How did I get here? I was in the warehouse training."

"From the way your brain wave chart looks, it seems as if you were in an Animus but way better," Rebbecca answered excitedly. "That was awesome. You really linked with your ancestor Desmond!"

Lucy helped him to sit up then began explaining. "We found you jumping off ledges in the warehouse. It was amazing Desmond, just like Ezio, but your hand slipped free of a bar and you fell for some reason. You looked as if you had a great grip but then all of a sudden your body became heavy and you just dropped. Thankfully Shaun was underneath you to break your fall."

"You're quite heavy by the way, and you're welcome."

"After that, you didn't move but your eyes remained open and you were mumbling, mushing words together, something about Malik." Desmond felt himself begin to blush, remembering what he saw, but willed it away. It took a lot more force than he thought it would, but how could he explain what he'd saw? How he tell Lucy about Altair and Malik.

Lucy continued, "That's how we figured you must have been hallucinating due to the bleeding effect, so we took you in here and laid you down. Hooked you to electrodes and monitored your status. You've been out for nearly two hours and we didn't dare wake you, until now when your heart rate spiked and your body temperature rose too nearly ninety-nine degrees. What happened Desmond?"

The blush pushed right back at him and he fought it down again. The other's inquired about his vision as well. "I...," Desmond looked down, stalled not wanting to reveal the truth, timing the moment and making his actions believable. "I can't remember, I'm sorry. Everything happened to fast."

Lucy gave him a curious look that the other two seemed to miss, then straightened in her chair. Rebbecca cursed as she began removing the electrodes, and Shaun sighed and went back to his work. "Dammit, we were hoping that you might be able to give us some sort of insight that way we could possibly find some way to stop it from happening, if even so often. Maybe you'll remember later, for now though I think you should rest. You look as if you haven't slept in an age. No Animus today."

Rebbecca wrapped everything up and put everything away in it it's proper places. "Yeah, you've been through a lot, or at least your brain has. It looks as if you were really thinking hard about something."

Lucy pushed him back down into the pillow, which propped him up but not enough for him to sit up straight. With the same curious look she walked away, pausing on the steps to say, "I'm going upstairs to make breakfast. Is there anything you would like?"

Desmond didn't have a taste for food right now but he said, "Just an egg over easy with a piece of buttered toast I guess."

Lucy smiled at him and turned again, asking Rebbecca and Shaun the same question. Shaun argued with Lucy for a moment about an omelet. Rebbecca wanted her usual muesli and soy milk, but Shaun, who was far too complicated for his own sake, went with Lucy because he wanted a French Omelette, and Lucy apparently "doesn't know the difference between a western omelet and a French Omelette."

_If I were her, I would have smacked him already for his arrogance_, thought Desmond to himself. _Regardless of his genius._

While Lucy was gone, and Rebbecca was busy doing whatever it was that she was doing usually, Desmond looked over to the woman with her head in the computer; Desmond was a hostage of his own thoughts. The images of Altair and Malik, the heart quickening kiss and the passionate heat, the feel of someones body up against his own, the taste of the booze, the clean taste of Malik, it was all so very real. Desmond could still taste booze, it was a strong aromatic and fruity and was way too strong not to mistake for alcohol but clearly Altair had never drank booze before. He could still feel lips pressed against his own, they were plump but rough from chapping and Malik's goatee still felt scratchy against his clean shave chin. Not even being in the Animus 2.0 gave him that kind of realism. Usually everything was so surreal, like living in a dream; not like he really was Altair. It was different from the regular bleeding effect as well. Why?

_What the hell was all that?_

_Who caught them?_

It wasn't long, perhaps only a few moments really but when left alone to his own thoughts, to Desmond it felt like an eternity as his body started reacting to the images that haunted him; before Lucy and Shaun came down with breakfast. Muesli and soy milk for Rebbecca, and omelet for Shaun, a granola bar and Greek yogurt for herself, and an egg over easy and a perfectly toasted and buttered piece of bread. Lucy set his plate down on the windowsill next to him as there was a lack of a bed side table, and with a smile she produced a fork from somewhere, Desmond did not see where, and he knew better than to ask. Women's magic was not to be questioned.

He grabbed the plate as she sat down next to his bed, and succeeded in pretending to eat. The meal looked beautiful and probably just as wonderful as it looked, but to Desmond clay was all it could be compared too. Lucy didn't say anything while they ate together, but Desmond got the feeling that she knew he was hiding something.

As it goes that after breakfast, whilst Rebbecca was busy talking on something that reminded him of Skype with other members of the Order of Assassin's, and Shaun was emailing intelligence, Lucy questioned him again if he'd remembered anything yet, and the seriousness in her face told Desmond he'd be better off not withholding the truth from her. Desmond, through having to stop and start a few times, explained everything, in vivid detail, feeling the blush rise into his skin again, yet managing to conclude his story while his thoughts ran away with his mouth and his tongue tripped over his words. Lucy sat back in the chair after he finished talking, the slightest tint of pink in her ivory cheeks, and she cleared her throat. "Well, that explains a few things."

Desmond questioned her, "A few things?"

"I quickly covered up your lower torso as best as I could," she answered and the blush deepened. "While you where out you had, well..."

The blush and where Lucy's eyes fell onto Desmond's lower region's told the rest of the story. Upon processing that knowledge, Desmond became silent; utterly mortified at the thought of Lucy being able to gauge the size of erection.

_I wonder what she thought about it_, came the question in the back of his mind, and Desmond mental berated himself even wondering.

"I.. I mean..."

"Don't worry about it Desmond," Lucy went on as if to brush it off like it was nothing. "As a female assassin, I'm trained to handle such situations."

Curious and wanting to get off the subject of his erection, Desmond questioned, "Situations? What do you mean, situations? What do female assassins do differently from male assassins?"

Lucy turned her head away from Desmond, as if she couldn't look at him in the eyes while she told him. "Sometimes it takes more than just skill to kill a target."

More innuendo's. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"It's okay, you don't need to apologize. The men are trained to attract women, and the women are trained to attract men. It's just the kind of situations everyone is educated to handle," Lucy said as she stood up, clearly wishing to be done with this conversation. Desmond was more than happy to oblige.

Once everyone had finished breakfast, Lucy took the dishes to the kitchen. They didn't speak again the rest of the day after that. In fact the room was surrealistically quiet, save for a television with a local news station as it's only channel; WUTV5 reporting on massive murder this, shooting spree that; burglaries, fires, a bloody corpse found precariously impaled upon the cross of a roman orthodox church, the brutal rape and torture of a CIA officer by way of plucking out her eye balls, cutting out her tongue and pulling out her teeth. Desmond trained the rest of the day, despite his companions complaints. He tried to ignore it, tried to run away from the sounds, the screaming of the woman on the 911 phone call recording, her crying.

Peaceful sleep did not come for Desmond that night.

_Demons, too many demons. The moon creating shadows of creatures unlike anything he'd ever seen, or were they really there? Little devils carrying pitchforks and laughing, poking at the cinders of a fireplaces that wasn't there before, until the tips of their forks were red hot._

_(I don't know what's happening to me... I am loosing control.)_

Desmond tossed, the sheets exploded off from his body within his waking nightmare, while Subject Sixteen's electronically broken voice ran through his head.

_The flash of a glitch. The Animus?_

_(Er... what century is it? Never mind.)_

_Another glitch. The glyph's?_

_(It's all blurring together.)_

Desmond turned on his pillow, while his head pounded as if he'd hit it too hard.

_(...shit! I've got to keep thinking. Thinking through the headaches.)_

_He saw her, clear as day. The woman from the 911 phone recording, her scream pierced his ears, to the point of bleeding. He could feel the blood draining down his from his ears to his cheeks and down his neck, flowing out of his nose until he could taste in his mouth. Her eye sockets were empty yet he felt her stare, her teeth were missing yet he felt the pain of her bite, her tongue had been cut out yet she accused him in malice._

"_How could you leave me assassin. Why. How could you let that man do that to me. He raped me and cut out my tongue to silence my screams. Why Desmond. Why."_

_The woman faded away, the world faded in, behind it the whir of a machine hung in the air. Abstergo's laboratory and the Animus and everything seemed so perfect, too perfect and too real. Clean and freshly bleached._

_A glitch; the room blinked into eagle vision._

_(Why do we have these gift's, these abilities? Because it's in our blood.)_

_Desmond eyed the splatters of blood left behind from Subject Sixteen, places where limbs were ripped apart, where a head was smacked and continually smacked until cracked open, where he died and the messages he left behind. The glyph's, the kanji, romaji, and latin. The pictures and the numbers, all those numbers._

_A flash of human form before him, bloody, ripped to shreds and then it's gone._

_(I'm holding a rifle. Gettysburg is in the distance. I just stabbed a man and there's blood on my waistcoat.)._

_Glitch._

_(Do you see what's going on? Not yet. But you will.)_

In his nightmare Desmond realized the Animus was calling to him again, singing it siren song, lulling him, attracting him like pheromones attract the opposite gender. Desmond continued to toss and turn in bed for an hour after that. The whir of the machine that never slept constantly buzzing in his ears.

_Before him appeared a beauty blessed with golden hair, ice blue eyes, and the figure of the goddess Aphrodite. Her face was peaceful as she sung without singing. So young, so pure. The words echoed around the room, the horrific confessions of Subject Sixteen._

_(I'm at the opera, the soprano is so beautiful. I'm in bed with her, she cries as I fuck her.)_

_Her face contorted in pain and tears streamed down her face as Desmond pounded in and out of her fragile beauty, her virginal blood mingling with his seed, spilling all over himself, her body and the white sheets on the bed, but that's what he was paid for right?_

_Glitch. (I'm speaking at the Forum, no one listens.) Men in powdered wigs and petticoats yelling and screaming at one another._

_Glitch. (I'm in the forest hunting. The moon. I can see the moon.)_

_Desmond watched the moon bleed a painful death. He screamed._

It came out as a whimper but the fear was so real. His body was stiff. Numb fingertips and toes, followed by the pain of limbs finally receiving blood to them, and he bit his lower lip to curve the pain and another scream as his head started to pound. Minutes passed slowly by, seemingly like hours before the pain subsided, and even longer before he was able to function his limbs, having to lay through tingling when all Desmond wanted to do was move, to get up and walk to the Animus.

Was it just him or did the pulsing of that machine saying his name?

_Desmond. Desmond._

Was he going crazy, from spending too much time in the Animus, like Subject Sixteen? Would he one day rip his hair out, peel of his skin, thrash his head against something so hard it cracks open his skull? Would he one day slice his wrists, write glyphs with his blood, and leave messages for another person? Would he finally collapse in a pool of his own blood on a dirty floor, laughing apathetically at the irony of his fate? Would they bleach it clean?

Desmond looked at the window, through the gleaming one-way ballistic glass to the outside to see the wanning crescent, Hecate's Sickle, and contemplating the height of the building. How far would he fall? How long would it take to hit the bottom? Would he splatter when he hit the ground? Would he be impaled on a fence or lamp post, or would he only break every bone in his body, puncture his organs and suffer in pain from internal bleeding for hours until he finally passed on? What if he lived?

The machine whirred at him. _Desmond._

_Goddammit, _Desmond turned away from the scythe-like moon cursing himself. _What the fuck are you thinking Desmond? Suicide? Real fucking smooth._

The whirring became louder.

_That fucking machine! I need it. I need to be in there. I need see it all, to feel it all. I need..._

"I need to know what happens." Decidedly Desmond, not worrying about pants to cover his shame or socks to cover his ice cold feet or even a shirt to stop the cold sweating of his skin from falling on the polished wooden floor. Not worrying about his own safety or sanity. Desmond cantered over to the Animus and not so calmly, not to neatly, and ever so harshly stabbed himself with the plug into his intravenous link receiver, like headphones into an MP3 player. So quickly, he hooked himself into the Animus, hoping his brainwaves can take over the main functions of the computers, and he would not need Rebbecca to get in.

He peered at the clock reading four-thirty in the morning. He only at one hour before Lucy would be up so he had to work quickly to be done with the memory. As luck would have it, hacking into the mainframe was almost too easy, seemingly as if the Animus had fallen for his charms as Ezio's lover, Caterina Sforza, fell for his. Subject Sixteen would have been proud of him. Could that fact be worse than he thought it was?

On the Desktop, it gave him the usual menu list of options: Log off, Data, Research, Mail, Configuration, Processes, Network, Lock, Corrupted Files, and of course DNA. Deoxyribonucleic Acid; who knew the properties of just a single strain of genetic molecules could hold such information.

Since Desmond was not looking for Ezio's DNA sequence he skipped over the first nine options on the list, choosing the one he'd never used before; DNA.

A prompt came up on the screen, presenting him with a choice.

PLEASE CHOOSE FROM AVAILABLE DNA CRITERIA

EZIO AUDITORE DE FIRENZA

ALTIAR IBN LA AHAD

SUBJECT 16

Desmond selected Altair. His selection was immediately followed by a bar which read as Animus spoke to him through the ear piece connected to his head:

SEARCHING FOR RELEVANT MEMORY DATA PLEASE WAIT...

MEMORY MATCH FOUND

ACCESSING MEMORY...

The screen changed into two digitalized double helices, flowing around him in space and coming together to form the spiral of a super helix. One strand of double helix represented Desmond's DNA, the other represented Altair, and Desmond watched as the DNA matched pairs and then super coiled upwards into the Animus information space in an infinite helix of matching and non-matching DNA pairs. Desmond choose a particular point in Altair's life, hoping it was close to where he'd left off. A strand of RNA replicated that part of Altair's DNA then connected into Desmond's DNA strand at an appropriate place. Desmond knew it was all for show, that it wasn't really happening, only Rebbecca's personal animation of the waiting, loading screen; but that didn't stop Desmond from thinking that it was really awesome. The girl was truly an artist of all trades.

Animus prompted after a moment:

ACCESSING DNA SEQUENCE OF

ALTIAR IBN LA'AHAD

Soon afterward, Altair's world built up around Desmond, his dirty, dusty world, with clay and stone buildings, and wooden scaffolding and infrastructures in the distance.

Surrounded by a wall, Altair looked toward a gray city, with gray people, under a gray sky. So gray, so unhappy under the eyes of King Richard, Altair's people. A façade; everyday they find something to be happy about, something to praise as rumors spread about the less than perfect health, the death, the assassination of their captors and abusers. Rejoicing round the city at night, playing their forbidden music on their instruments, singing their forbidden chants and music, dancing their forbidden dances. Their lives turn to color when the sun goes down at the end of another gray, clouded day, and the people build fires and dance and sing and make love under the clear starry skies, praising their pagan gods and goddesses. A starry sky that King Richard will never truly see, and the sun was about to go down.

Altair stroked the mane of his white courser mare, who was named Bint-El-Nil when he received her but he quickly nicknamed her Fajer. Fajer replied to his petting by turning her head back to nip at his outer thigh and snort, which made Altair smile. Fajer had been a sent home with Altair as a gift from the Egyptian Order Mentor, when he found his youngest daughters eyes upon him. Fajer was disguised as a gift for becoming Mentor of the Levantine Order. Her temper was inauspicious and her gait unfortunately left him with a slight ache in his legs after too long a ride, for she was bred to trot rather than walk, but Fajer was strong as an ox and swift as the wind, one of the best coursers he'd ever ridden, and despite herself, Fajer listened very well to Altair. If danger presented itself, she kept calm without having to be counseled or whipped into action. Fajer knew no fear, and upon that Altair established a relationship with Fajer. She helped him, and he fed her ravenous appetite for travel and food, climbing and jumping. She was a strong fighter too. Many a time had Altair not had to watch his back with Fajer around. Kicking and trampling Altair's enemies before they'd gotten to him was one of her favorite past times.

"Fajer," Altair spoke to grab her attention before giving a few soft clicks. Happy that he did not have to pull her head to keep her from falling off the cliff allowed Altair kept the reigns loose enough that Fajer could move her head but not so loose as to tell Fajer that he was going to jump from her back and that she had to brace herself for his jump. Would he need to jump from her in a hurry, he would let go of the reigns completely letting Fajer know to stiffen her back for the impact.

Fajer took the hill very well in a trot, avoiding the people when Altair made whispering sounds so as they did not alert the guards to the presence of an assassin. When they came in sight of the city guards, Altair bent down to her ear and told her to walk, which she obeyed very neatly. Some where in the back of his mind Altair wondered if this horse had been the reincarnation of an assassin as Fajer was incredibly intuitive of the guards and their objective glancing for which she would steer off the road, cantering toward the graveyard, or some other place where the guards could not see her, and let Altair climb down. Altair stroked the side of her neck, she tried to nip at his hand and she whinnied and snorted when she couldn't get at them, as if to say that compensation is needed for her services.

"Good girl," he soothed and pulled wild wheat seeds from a pouch on his side. Fajer took them, happily and with another snort. "Shh, shh, Fajer. You know the deal. You'll here my whistle before the sun rises and if not, go home to Masyaf. Yes?"

Fajer whinnied, shook her head at him, and he soothed her again before removing her harness and blanket, hiding them in under a loose concrete block, leaving her to trot away to roam and wait for him. Altair rarely road her with a saddle which made it easier for him to hide. A horse without a rider in the saddle roaming around the outside of a city was a big red flag. A wild horse however was of no consequence of anyone, and Altair wasn't worried about her being caught. Fajer could hide far better and out run her captors quicker than most assassins.

Altair blended in with a group of scholars, sneaking into the city and then into a group of people. He avoided several guards and blended in with more people. He threw a coin at the beggar woman because he happen to have picked one up that had been lying uselessly on the ground. Too bad he wouldn't be able keep it after all. Oh well, maybe next time, but it was better of in that woman's hands than his own. The woman went right away to the grain dealer and bought as much as she could with that coin, not a lot but at least it will feed her child for a day or two, or if she was smart, she will plant half of those pieces of grain and sow them when they grow, and feed her child for more than just a day or two, keep half of the seed she grew and make more from a next generation.

Altair sat down at a bench as a group of guards came by, waited for them to pass, and returned to walking. He turned the corner, found the entrance, and took a deep breath, one last bit of mental preparation, before climbing up the ladder to get into the Assassin's Bureau.

_Assassinating someone is a lot easier than this,_ he thought as he moved up from rung to rung.

This is it. Altair would tell him. He promised himself that he would, meditated on it, something Altair would normally save for when he went on an assassination mission. Butterflies were making his stomach all a flutter. He hadn't seen Malik since he ran off that night they shared their boozy kiss, two weeks ago. During which, they were halfway caught by Nahid coming back from her mission, for it was then sunrise and safe to return without compromising the brotherhood. Unfortunately, she did not come back safely. Nahid, becoming unconscious as soon as she reached the entrance, fell through and Altair caught her. Malik and Altiar smuggled her out of the city and Altair rode her home on Fajer. Nahid was put out of commission that night, and she will be out of commission for another week, in which she will be doing more training. Altair hadn't been back since for fear of Malik's malice. Since then, Altair had a lot of time to meditate on what happened, and what was the next move to make. The conclusion he came to surprised Altair.

Altair managed to find some normal clothing, a plain tunic and robes, and packed his master assassin provisions and a few other things, in the sack on his back. Effortlessly in his masquerade, he blended away from the guards and stole away from Masyaf, mounted his horse and headed for Jerusalem. About an hour or so from the city, he found a private spot to bathe and then scented himself with a generous amount of an oil made from myrrh and frankincense, a gift from the Egyptian Order Mentor's daughter which came in a jar made of alabaster adorned with the head of a eagle. It smelled very exotic, a scent that excited the senses. He dressed himself in his master assassin provisions when he dried, hoping to himself that the the smoky, sweet scent wasn't too much.

_(How odd to know that Altair wasn't always so confident.)_

Altair, now on the roof looked up at the place where the moon should be. Tonight was the perfect night for the assassin as even the moon herself was cloaked. The stars in the sky shown brighter tonight than any other night in her twenty eight night cycle, but even with the millions that there were, they alone were not enough to illuminate Altair sufficiently to the guards. To them, he was just another shadow in the darkness.

The Assassins Bureau was open as it usually is when the night was silent. Altair padded softly to the edge of the opening from which, Altair was surprised to hear chanting, almost singing in a low, harmonious male voice. Sorrowful was the voice and full of sorrow the voice sung:

"_Ya a'aini kouli laou yousofouli a'an el a'oyoun dih izaay adoub._

_"Naari, naarain._

_"Min nazrah khaadni, iblahzah iwnahna sawa._

_"Aalbi eih jaroulouh._

_"Aglmal kalaam bia'younouh aalou a'an il-hawa._

_"Khoufi min el ghiyyah latsibni wahdiyyah w argaa' li ahzaani._

_"Aalbi eih jaroulouh."_[1]

_(Dammit, no translation. Probably because of the drawn out syllables.)_

Altair could feel the sorrow in Malik's words, could feel tears stinging his eyes. Who was Malik singing about? Was he in love with someone who'd rejected him? Altair had to find out.

The chanting continued as Altair jumped down into the Assassins Bureau, landing softly on his feet. Malik was in the leader's chamber, singing that sorrowful tone, scratching on his papyrus with a quill and ink. The quill seemed to flow like water. Altair took another deep breath and let it out slowly as he walked, passing the pillows Malik and himself had kissed on. Altair recalled that night feeling a swelling that he had to push away. The pillows had been rumpled since then.

Altair passed the plants, they'd been watered since then. Altair stopped at the door, just at the right angle in which Malik could not see him. Altair stayed there for a moment, contemplating the results his actions may bring. Would Malik accept him, or would Malik hate him? Would Malik curse him, try to kill him, or disown him? So many questions, so many "what if's". Is it too much or is it not enough, and lest he not forget that all unknowing question: Why?

Of all the things he'd contemplated and meditated upon in the past two weeks, Altair had never questioned himself why? Did he see himself as too big for an answer or was he just that confident in himself? Why did Altair love Malik so? Why did he care? Why he was taught by Al Mualim that he would never need love, yet here he was, feeling the need of love and not just for one person, but for two. Could he have them both? Was that possible? Altair breathed in, and came to this conclusion: a thousand questions that would have to be answered one at a time would only start with an answer to a question never asked, but would only be answered by love.

_Just say it Altair,_ he thought to himself. _Just walk in there and tell him. Its just like taking a leap of faith. The first leap is always the hardest._

Altair released his breath and walked into the door just as Malik finished his last drawn out syllable. Altair sensed nothing. Malik looked surprised for just a moment and then continued scratching in his papyrus book, "Greetings my friend. What brings you here this evening? I was not expecting anyone of such high rank for at least a week."

Altair was caught off guard for a moment, and then realized after a moments consideration that he was no more distinguishable from another master assassin than was a single wasp in a swarm of honey bee's. To Malik he was just some unnamed assassin from his creed with a master assassin ranking.

Altair removed his hood, and proceeded with caution."Greetings Malik."

"Altiar," Malik proclaimed, seeming surprised. Altair couldn't tell as easily with Malik as he could with anyone else. There was nothing more complicated than Malik's emotions, as a scowl sometimes mistaken for a sneer, was ever present upon his face. Happy or sad, mad or anxious, even surprised. Malik closed his book quickly, and busied himself putting it away while he questioned, "To what do I owe the honor Mentor?"

The words were cold and distancing. _Mentor_, the honorific cut into Altair like his knife cut in to the flesh of one of his targets. Altair recoiled, stepping back, and reconsidering his presence. Malik's mood was unreadable. He supposed it shouldn't be easy, the willing of words to pour from his mouth like the poetry he'd read from many scrolls. A declaration of adornment, a sweet embrace under the caress of the moon light, a tender kiss...

Not unlike the poetry he'd written in his personal journal, but nothing was ever that easy.

Malik turned around uneasily. Suddenly his voice was familiar. "Altair, is there something wrong? Has something happened at Masyaf?" There was an urgency in Malik's voice that prompted Altair to answer.

Altair shook his head, for once using his body as a communication device. "No, no. Masyaf is fine."

"Then what has tied your tongue?"

Altair looked down at his feet. "Malik, I..." _Dammit, why is this so hard!_

Malik prompted again, "Altair!"

He shook his head. _Laa shay'a waqi'un mutlaq bale kouloun moumkin._

Not able to say anything, Altair walked quickly up to the counter at which Malik wrote upon, slowly enough that it didn't seem dire, yet fast enough that Malik didn't have time to back up. Altair grabbed Malik, pulling them together, and clumsily planted a kiss upon Malik's lips. Altair backed up quickly when Malik didn't respond.

Did he not like it? Altair imagined his lips too rough, or the oil too strong a perfume. Altair imagined Malik feeling violated or angry. Altair imagined Malik's acceptance of Altair but the denial of his love. Altair felt his heart pounding to the point of pain. All the emotions running through his veins felt like the adrenaline that pumped through his arteries before a kill. Though instead of helping him, his emotions weighed him down.

The demons spiral. So many questions, too many possibilities, and here he was a master assassin trained to deal with high stress situations, to keep a clear head, and he was fumbling over his own damned thoughts!

_Have I made the right choice? Will I land in safety from my leap of faith?_

"Altair, what...?" Malik asked.

"Malik I... I mean...," Altair started, but Malik shushed him, Malik grabbed him, actually grabbed him and pulled him close, noses nearly touching. Close enough to taste bitter tea on Malik's breath, gunpowder green, steeped with mint and lemon beebrush, sweetened delicately with honey.

Close enough to see Malik's calm and expressionless eyes, the underlying crisp bright blue flowering beneath the dark chocolate brown. Quite unique and something Altair had never noticed before. It was beautiful, piercing, dangerous.

Close enough to smell the aoud on his clothes, the same scent that was burned in the Jerusalem Assassin's Bureau daily. The scent befit Malik, mingling well with the man's natural musk. Intoxicating. Altair breathed in deep, and expected anything to happen.

"Novice," Malik said and kissed him deeply.

Altair was too stunned to move for a moment, so shocked into stiffness by Malik's kiss that in that moment Malik started to pull back. _No._

Altair had been waiting ever since he could remember for this kiss, for this chance to be with Malik. He would not let this slip through his fingers. He could not let this slip through his fingers. It was his one chance to be truly happy. Not that Maria did not make him happy. Maria was a woman like no other he'd met. Altair could leave a legacy with Maria, but only with Malik would his life be truly complete.

Altair pushed into Malik, chest to chest, feeling the other's heart pound and willing himself to take the man's lips lightly like a gentle lover taking the virginity of another, though he wished he could ravish Malik, but Altair dared not. Taking Malik would be slow and supple, gentle as should be the taking of another's virtue, slow and steady, like the moon rising and falling from the horizon, and would start with this.

Altair brought his hand up to the other man's head and neck, left a few promise kisses and broke away from Malik's lips to kiss his way down to the man's jaw bone, nipping and kissing lightly the way up to Malik's pulse. He heard Malik sigh as Altair attached himself to that artery and teased lightly with his tongue.

Altair lost his cool when he heard Malik groan from the taking of a clothed nipple, so wanton as Malik pushed his chest into Altair's face. Altair broke himself from the man, and in seeing the raw emotion in Malik's face, regarded the counter between them as worthy of death. Instead of dismantling it and beating it to pulp like he wanted to, Altair leaped over it forcing Malik to back against the book self behind him. A few books knocked loose from the impact, scattering loose papyrus everywhere, but they were ignored when Malik grabbed Altair's tunic and pulled them close, their lips all but mashing together. Malik moaned into Altair's mouth when Altair forced his tongue inside, tasting everything, licking the roof of the mans mouth, eliciting a small whimper.

Gentle, said a tiny voice in the back of his head but Altair was too far gone to listen. _Action now, reaction later._ Malik was ran his hand through Altair's hair and down to stroke the back of Altair's neck, nails scratching up and fingers soothing down. Altair paused the assault on Malik's mouth to make his way around the man's neck, nipping at both collarbones while his hands roamed elsewhere, places he couldn't recall. Tired of the clothing between them, Altair pulled the robe from Malik's body with such force it knocked the man back a bit but Malik braced and managed not to hit the shelving again. The robe dropped with the papers onto the floor.

It was too dark to see properly but Altair could tell that Malik was sneering at him, challenging him, with a lusty look in his eyes. Altair almost questioned it, but reprimanded himself from doing so. Why would the earth question the sun's gift of warmth and nurture? Altair soaked in the sun's warmth, bliss washing over him like a wave washing over the beach. When his mind returned to him again, Altair collapsed on the bed next to Malik, who groaned and then relaxed, and collapsed on the bed, breathing ragged and body satisfied. Altair couldn't help it, he turned over, kissed Malik on his lips and fell asleep.

FAST FORWARD TO A MORE RECENT MEMORY?

Desmond, feeling a little overwhelmed now, a little flustered, and hoping that it wasn't too late as he could sneak back into bed before Lucy and the others awoke for the day, decided to exit the memory in promise that he would return to it the next night after everyone went to bed again. Hopefully it was still a little dark outside the windows so he could lay in bed and contemplate what he witnessed in his ancestors memories.

The eye shields contracted as he logged off. The room was still dark _(good) _and Lucy wasn't hovering over him with shock on her face and holding up fingers. Everything was silent as he sat looking up at the ceiling for a moment with a sigh on his breath. He clenched his fist, starting to get the feeling back in his arm before pulling out the intravenous link with a yank. Desmond gruffed at the slight pain and huffed when it was over. He blinked as the feeling returned into his torso and legs. Desmond could finally sit up after only a few minutes and he would take this opportunity to stretch out before getting into his bed for the, Desmond lifted his head to peer at the digitalized clock that bounced around the computer screen on the shelf a few feet ahead of him.

"Hello, Desmond."

NOTES:

[1] Roughly translates to:

"Oh my eye tell me if they can describe to me these eyes. How can I melt? My fire is two fires. From one glance, he took me and we are together. What has happened to my heart? Through his eyes, he told me the most precious things about love. Love came by, but I'm afraid of the seduction. Afraid that you will leave me alone so I will return to my sorrows. What has happened to my heart?" They are lyrics taken from a few of my favorite songs, unfortunately I'm not a poet. Credit: Hisham Abbas -Habbib-dah and Ebab Tawfik - Doubti Doub


End file.
